You Are Not Human
by the immortal slice of pie
Summary: In her heart, she holds back her rage at the world - rage that sends her into shaking fits of hysteria; rage that drives her into cutting apart those who stand in her way. Dell is a liar, a thief, and a monster, but she just can't understand why she's in Silent Hill.


I have no idea what the fuck is happening right now.

I've woken up in the middle of an empty road and I can't remember falling asleep, so is this a dream? I push myself up off the tar, elbows rubbing against brown grit and small stones.

My surroundings are bleak, gray, and entrenched with fog. I can't see much farther than the metal barriers on the sides of the highway. The fog covers the way behind me, so forward is my only option.

Am I suffering from a concussion? A quick self-examination gives away nothing. No new bumps or bruises, no sudden aches or pains.

I check my wristwatch and find that it's broken, and stuck at 6:36. AM or PM? I can't tell, to be honest. The sky is as gray as the fog, blending together like piss and moonshine.

I give myself a quick pat down and, shitshitshit, both my phone and my wallet are gone.

Looking up, my eyes take in the road ahead of me. I guess there's nothing for me to do but start walking, although I move hesitantly at first. It is the cold that urges me forward, for the clothes I am wearing are threadbare and do little to keep me warm. Goosebumps line my arms as I break into a slow jog. The pads of my sneakers hitting the ground, my staccato breaths, are the only sounds.

Where am I going?

Just as I think these words, a sign on the edge of the road comes into view. Thank Christ; it looks like I'm running in the right direction.

'Population: 20,000,' says the sign. I pause, savoring its rustic letters.

'WELCOME TO SILENT HILL.'

* * *

There's something off about this place.

The silence hushes my thoughts, unsettles my indifference.

* * *

The road eventually turns and converges with a wide, nameless street. There are streetlights on, but they do little to clear the pervading mist. I can maybe see 30, 40 feet ahead of where I currently stand, and a noticeable chill has blanketed my shoulders. I shiver, giving myself a shake.

Brick and mortar buildings line the avenue, and if I peer long enough, I can distinguish the silhouettes of the rest of the town. A single, stagnant cross is the uppermost structure amidst the gray.

I make my way towards the buildings, hoping for a sign of life. They seem as vacant as the turf I'm on, though. The majority of them seem to be apartments, separated by gray, metal fencing. With identical, listlessly gleaming windows, they'd be indistinguishable from each other if it weren't for their garden décor; grubby plastic flamingos and glass gnomes.

I stop and eye one of these gnomes. My mouth twists with amusement; I'm grimacing at this podgy-looking dirt-doll that doesn't have a face. I look around, and the rest are similarly faceless, as well.

I hope the occupants aren't as weird as their lawns.

At the first apartment's doorstep, I knock soundly, and I ring the bell, once, twice, three times. I pause for eight more seconds. The tenants are unresponsive.

"Alright," I say aloud, taking a step back. "Okay."

Any rational person would have just assumed nobody was home, but it suddenly occurs to me that I can't remember when I last had my meds.

One soundless moment passes – I'm sorry, my displeasure gets the best of me.

"Answer your fucking door!"

As expected, my voice does that thing when I get upset; it cracks, it heaves in pitch. The door receives a brutal kicking. Ding-_fucking_-dong, I press the bell until I think I've broken it. A streamline of profanities follow.

I've become alive, for the first time since I can remember; I fly down the short steps, making a point to step on one of their flamingos, and hoist myself over their wire fencing. I stride over to the next residence, but they are no different from the first.

This episodic rage inhibits me from moving on. I abuse more inanimate objects, I curse as though I've been personally insulted. In the dull aftermath, several gnomes lie shattered on concrete, and I've actually joined them there, squatting mutely over their remains.

Eventually, I ditch the apartments.

* * *

'Pete's General Store,' reads the shop's sign. 'OPEN.'

The windows of Pete's are cracked and dirty, the wooden door is marred with burns. I push against the battered entrance, expecting it to swing open, but am surprised by how firmly locked it is. The glass is too worn to peer through.

I've passed the outer residential part of town, now, and am passing through its central area. Unfortunately, it seems like Silent Hill's inner region is just as deserted as its predecessor. There are many more shops like Pete's, equally derelict and grungy, with not a person to be seen. I walk until the stores begin to dwindle, and the streetlights become rarer and rarer. My breaths are becoming like the fog, and my fingers are numb. Although the idea of cold is not new to me, I have never liked it, no matter how pretty it seemed.

As I walk, the boulevard begins to deteriorate into a simple, gravel lane. Skinny, colorless trees congregate along the pathway, and tall, corroded lampposts replace the frozen power lines.

The sight of the church stops me.

The church is white, whiter than baking powder, and unstained by the mist. I stare at it with eyes like glass. It seems untouched by the haze glazing the rest of this world, and stands resolute, ominous, and alone. A great, golden bell hangs over its slated roof, and a metal cross protrudes at the very top. It is same cross I had seen when first entering the town. A halo of gray encircles it.

The most striking thing about this church, however, is neither its size nor its architectural contrast to the other buildings. I swallow, and it hurts because my throat is suddenly dry.

All I can see is a tattered human corpse nailed to its doors.


End file.
